Better Man
by Ryan2
Summary: "The cave wall is a comforting pain, my fingers survive it, so maybe I kept my strength, or maybe I’m just not ready to bleed."


Better Man

Rating: PG/PG-13 Spike has a dirty mouth, but its British. (Minds OUT of gutter. Now. You're blocking my view.)

Summary: Post Gone. A lot of angst, a few surprises for Spike. No explicit ships.

Disclaimer: Joss owns all the pretty toys.

Distribution: Ask and ye shall receive. 

The second this excruciating pain stops, I'm going to kill something.

Preferably the mummified bugger who did this to me in the first place. Suffering. I'm suffering—the only fate worse than eternal torment in an unknown hell dimension—that blighter turned me into Angel.

And it hurt. Not in the "I'm about to brood from lack of hair gel sort of way," more like the "golly-gee-kiddies your muscles _can_ turn themselves inside out" sort of way. Losing my soul was possibly the second best thrill I'd ever had. The best thrill is the reason why I got myself into this mess in the first place. Damnation was fun. Redemption hurts like a bitch.

I stopped screaming long enough to decide to kill this wanker, painfully. I'd settled on ripping his pasty skin off and barbecuing him in salt when I realize the shadow falling over me is all wrong. Something tells me this is not my day. First Glinda the bad wish demon and now Giles. Giles in a safari outfit. The mind simply rebels.

And he's smug. The bastard has this smug little smile on his face and that's when it dawns on me. Hey, used to be master of Sunnydale, know a "my evil plan worked" smirk when I see one. I've only got one punch left in me before I pass out for a year or two, but its going right in the middle of that smile, until I look up into his eyes. I get gloating, I get vengeance, sure I tried to kill him, a few times actually, but I'm going to create a new orifice for that bloody pity. No more Spike the poor biteless vampire. Nope. Now its Spike the poor biteless besouled vampire. And then, bugger it all to hell, I actually begin to cry.

Now, before you think that a soul automatically turns us all into ponces, I'd no desire to live on the street, didn't run out and practice brooding, was already mooning over Buffy and I hadn't read poetry since Whitman died. 'Sides which, I cried before I had the stupid soul. 

Compared to that day I'm dignity personified sitting there on the floor of this sandy cave in the middle of nowhere, tears running down my face. The last time I couldn't even stand up, couldn't open my eyes see her body lying there like a broken promise, couldn't even move my hand out of the sunlight, because at least that pain was something I could feel. 

Now I'm hiding from a bloody reflection, the reflection of my eyes in her watcher's, because what do you say to dear old dad when you almost rape his daughter?

"I wanted to be evil again. That stupid wanker tricked me." 

And he's still standing there inscrutable as a pharaoh and totally calm the bastard. Fine. He wants truth. He's getting truth. 

"Evil, do you hear me?" The cave wall is a comforting pain, my fingers survive it, so maybe I kept my strength, or maybe I'm just not ready to bleed. "Evil." 

"I tried, alright Giles, I tried. And I couldn't do it. I actually sat there and told her I would never hurt her. Thought I could make an exception, thought I could cloak the monster in a man-suit and fool the kiddies. But she always knew. I'm evil, I'm a monster, and I proved it nice and fine. Congratulations. We finally have a winner in the game of kick the Spike. He's taken his good intentions and gone bloody home to monsterland."

"So why. the. hell. give. me. the. bloody. soul. now?" 

Smashing your hand into solid rock is not the best punctuation but I suppose it's better than hitting Giles and suffering the seven day migraine. Besides which, if I've still got vamp strength I don't really want to do it anyway. Too much Cambridge too early, gentleman fight fair. And I suppose there's not much satisfaction in kicking that smirk off his face unless he can kick me back. 

Sometimes I wish I never got out of the crypt. Giles is muttering something and rubbing his glasses, and all I can remember is the look in her eyes. And I realize somewhere that it's wrong. Wrong that I've killed thousands of people and all I still care about is the slayer. Hell, all I've ever cared about is the slayer.

"…um and well, we planned it you see. Not necessarily a unanimous vote, but some members of the council were quite solidly in your favor. I believe they see your quest as rather, well, heroic was the word they used. Not the word I'd use, but the word they used."

That sunk through. I concentrated really hard on getting myself off of the floor, right hand left hand right leg left leg, until I was right in his face, bleeding onto his nice safari boots. "You planned this?"

Giles had the dignity to look embarrassed. "Yes, well, he owed me a favor."

"He owed you a favor!"

"And so well, we made a deal."

"A deal? A DEAL. This, my soul, is a deal?" I know I smelled like death itself, and rats were a good bit sweeter than that, but something was turning my stomach right and proper and I knew any second now I was going to suss it out. The trap. The catch. Hey, there hasn't been a game invented I couldn't cheat at, and I know a bum hand when I see one. 

"Giles, mate, you're not making any sense. See Angel gets himself all nice and soul-d and he spends a century as a lawn ornament. Overcome by guilt, suicidal, bad hair. What makes you think I'd be any different? Can't fight the good fight when I'm out buying hair gel and draining rats. So what's the catch?"

"Catch, well, actually you see its rather not a catch exactly, its rather more that you and Angel are totally different beings, each with totally different personalities."

"So what? So I'm not going to care as much as Peaches, is that it? Things aren't going to hit me as hard as they hit him? 'Cause he's the better miserable sodding wanker, right?" 

"Actually, no."

"Once, just once, I'd like to be better than Angel at **something**." 

"So terribly sorry to interrupt this truly excellent display of self-pity but I am attempting to tell you…"

"What? What Giles? What wisdom do you have to offer me? I'd bow down accordingly but I'm having a bit of a time feeling anything in my two broken legs so pardon me if I just sit here and bleed on your bloody safari boots."

"Testy aren't we?"

"When was the last time you suffered significant torment at the hands of demon, mate?"

"Does watching the Passions midnight marathon count?"

I suppose it was a trick of the sunlight or my third black eye in two months, but I could have sworn he almost smiled. 

"So why am I different?"

"Pardon?"

"You were bout to tell me why I'm different than Peaches, aside from a sparkling personality and a morning routine that stops at shaving."

"Oh, well, its rather simple actually. You have a lot less to be sorry for."

Great. Just great. Now I have the Crown Prince of Tweed telling me I'm not evil enough. It's really not my day. 

"I have plenty to be sorry for. Lots. I did lots of evil, lots and lots and lots of evil. I was the most evil thing ever to…"

"…save the Slayer's life on at least five separate occasions, avert two apocalypses, one without the chip, place the care of your sire above your own personal glory, protect the slayer's mother, sister and friends who you really don't even like? Oh, and we won't forget protecting not only your mother and sister from Angelus' gang, myself from torture, but there was that time in Prague..."

"Bloody hell! No one knows about that. No one. And it doesn't make me good."

"Perhaps. But it doesn't make you the demon Angelus was either."

"So this is all about my inferiority complex? Hey, incoming, Angelus doesn't exist any more, and neither does Darla, and poor Dru is busy talking to the moon so that makes me the Big Bad. Me."

"Contrary to popular belief, Spike, you are not the only human on the planet to transform himself. And to decide that transformation was and should be temporary."

"Ooh, what? You used to be bad? Big bad Giles. Return a library book after the due date—Rupert, you dog!"

He's picking me up now, which is surprising, and the shaking is really not doing good things to my center of gravity, 

"You miserable, arrogant, obnoxious twat. God, it's like looking in a mirror some days, though I was never as irritating, no one could possibly be as irritating. But I did it all, the attitude, the fags, the breaking and entering, playing with dark magick and getting in over my head—until people bloody died, my mates died, I almost died and then I decided I should just. grow. up."

The floor of this cave keeps getting harder. I rub my head and then drag myself into a corner to quietly retch for a few moments. Perhaps mini-me had a case of the guilties 'cause he passes me a canteen. Water. Refreshing. 

And that's when I realize something is really wrong. 

"Where's the blood Giles?"

"Blood? Ummm, yes, well, the blood…" The sound of backpedaling is overwhelming the small space. 

"Yes, hello, vampire, suffering torment at the hands of the watcher's council. We need blood to heal. You know that. Everyone knows that. There is no way you wouldn't come without blood…"

And suddenly I get it. Using hands knees and the wall of the cave, I drag myself toward the entrance and place my hand out into the pure sunlight of an African noon.

"Giles, you bastard. You bloody bastard." 

My hand is fine. A nice warm glow on it from the sun. But no sizzle, no pop, no colorful charring and burning. I'm fine. 

I am sure the watcher is laughing his ass off at the irony as I drag myself, hand over bloody hand out into the sunlight. For a moment I just lie there—the sky is amazing, sunlight takes the shadow out of everything, deceives the eye that it can see forever. Even when I had the gem I never took advantage, never just sat for a moment with the sunlight on my face, the way I used to as a child. 

I hope he can't hear me, 'cause I never had control over my mouth on a good day, and I can't keep it back—"Oh, my, God."

"Not precisely." Damn. Human ears better than I thought. "It's not a perfect system you know. You still can still be killed by beheading or staking and you'll be uncomfortable in churches until you atone, crosses and holy water will effect you less and less as time passes—provided you continue to do the right thing. And you'll still need blood. But not to heal, and far less than what you're used to. Eventually you will find your need for blood will pass away entirely. You are also still considered a vampire in the arcane sense, wardings against demons still apply. No spell can change that."

"But the light? The blood?"

"You are no longer a damned creature."

"Some spell."

"Actually its more of a prayer than a spell, an invocation to the higher powers. Usually its used the other way, to turn a human into a demon rather in the matter of vampires. But Lurconovix tweaked it a little for us."

"But what about the strength, the healin'—can't help the Slayer if I can't keep up…" And for a moment I feel the first real fear since I got myself into this mess. Didn't much care if I suffered, didn't much care if I died the true death. But I know what my slayer needs, and its not a man who she has to hold back with, a man who can't match her. I would stake myself good and proper and on the spot if I thought I'd become Captain Cardboard. Hell, Peaches is bad enough. Let's not add that other wanker to the mix. 

"You asked to be worthy of her fight, Spike, that doesn't mean sitting on the sidelines."

"Bloody hell."

"There's one other small catch." Giles had the glasses out now and was polishing away with a vengeance. I knew it. There's no such thing as too good to be true.

"Your rather, well, your, um, mortal."

"Mortal?"

"Yes. You'll live out a normal life-span, but from this point on your body is going to age and change as if you never been turned."

I stared down at my ruined hand almost ignorant of its progress up to Giles' arm. I patted his elbow awkwardly, but it was sincere. "Thanks mate. That was the only problem, you see. After that day I swore I wouldn't stay behind again. Mourned her once, and that was enough."

For a moment the watcher just looks at me. But I can see it in his eyes. He knows exactly what I'm on about. And I'm absurdly grateful, suddenly, that there's even a ghost of a chance of going first. I guess I'd miss it. But eternal life, don't really know why its such a prize, exactly. Was a time when that's all I was after, loved watching the world I hated vanish-- cobbles to superhighway and I never looked back. But the Nibblet's goin' to be taller than me in a month or two and the thought of the whelp or even the watcher turning gray, vanishing like Joyce. Not exactly entertainment. 

As I crawled my way outside, blazing sun warming the top of my head, I couldn't suppress the feeling that I was getting the better end of the deal. Horizon becomes an expanse of blue, shocking in its overpowering warmth. "Grow up ya say."

Giles is standing on the threshold of darkness, God Save the Queen and the civilizing power of a good cuppa, everything I've taught myself to despise for over a hundred and twenty years. I can see myself in his eyes, and I don't know for a moment if its Spike or William that he sees standing there, marveling at the noon sky like a fledgling marvels at darkness. 

But the promise is real, the threat. It doesn't need words, it's in his hands clenched into fists and the white lines around his mouth. He'll stake me cold if I hurt her again.

I nod once. Alls' kosher between gentleman. Watcher and I, made of the same stuff deep down, scratch us and we bleed blue. 

"Do ya think I can ever make up for it?"

He doesn't need to ask. "Impossible to say really. She's done some truly depraved things…"

"So that's it, depraved. That's what she was on about. She used to get that look in her eye, as if she was seeing you standing there, all disapproving daddy. And then she'd be off, calling me a monster. Thought a soul could change that. Could change you and all the rest of the sodding Scoobies. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe nothin' I can do…"

"Actually I was referring to Buffy's unfortunate tendency to beat you to a bloody pulp and reject all of your attempts toward fostering a morality, unconventional though it might have been, by nurturing only darkness."

"Oh."

"Quite. To resume then. Buffy's done some truly depraved things, but your behavior toward her is inexcusable. And unjustified. You forced yourself on her." And then he cracks, as if it really has only become real in this moment, with me bleeding there before him in the sunlight.

"Don't have the gall to ask me if she'll forgive you when its hard to keep from killing you where you stand."

For a moment I can believe that Giles was an evil bastard. His tone almost set me back, and I've been around some scary buggers in my time, blokes that made Angelus look tame. It takes a hell of a lot of anything to make me blink, and Giles had all of my attention. 

Something in him relaxes. I recognize the posture. He's just decided not to kill me. The librarian tone is back again, but I see it for what it is. Dress the monster up in tweeds, wrap it in glasses and bowties so it won't escape and eat the kiddies in a moment of pique. But the monster is still there. 

"…to find that you have been rewarded with a soul is..." The glasses are out again and his hands are twitching. He's fighting it, the demon. 

"Didn't want a soul."

"Don't treat me like an idiot. Lie to yourself all you want, but pay me the courtesy of an honest reply. We had instructions to eliminate you if your purposes were truly evil."

"Allright. ALLRIGHT. Maybe I did want it. Knew it made Angelus suffer. Deserved to suffer, after what I did. What I almost did. Didn't suffer nearly enough."

"You honestly regret your actions." Watchers' silent. Regrets' something he knows. I wonder why he's surprised. Wasn't like I was fun and games when I failed her before. 

"Couldn't think of anything but what I did, even before the bloody soul. Tortured I was, only thing that kept me goin' was getting here, hoped the blighter would kill me, do me a favor."

"Do you feel differently now, after, well, now?"

"Strangely enough mate, I feel better."

"Better?" Giles was getting that dangerous look back in his eye.

"Not that I'm ready to go skipping with the puppies and what all, but I feel like I don't have to fight so hard. Demon's so strong. That day, it was like it reached up and took over, and when I woke up again all I could hear was her voice. But I'd done it. Hurt her. Can't keep a bloody promise to save my life. Ya know she told me once the only chance I had with her was when she was unconscious?"

Watcher smirks a little at that one. Always appreciated her wit, he did, even when he's pretendin' otherwise.

"Then she turns around and its as if there is nothing in the world but the two of us. Thought her not sayin' she loved me was like that. Should've known. She'd never let me tell her I loved her."

He's listening now, just taking it all in. Shut your hole, Spike. Watcher doesn't need to hear it. But its too late. 

"Wanted to, liked the fun and games, but just once I wanted to tell her I loved her. Have her look at me like I wasn't a thing. Know it was real, true."

"Provided you will have no memory after today of what I'm about to say and never repeat it to another soul, living dead or undead, I'll confess—you might actually be good for her."

Soul must be doin' things to my ears, there's no way I just heard that. 

"Angel was always intimidated by the human world, and Buffy was so young, just a child really. She had no boundaries as far as he was concerned. No relationship can survive that sort of inequality. Bloody idiot left her on the day of her senior prom."

For once the watcher and I are in perfect agreement.

Deadly serious now and its showing. He's got to know I mean it, would die to keep this one promise.

"Anything she wants, Giles, anything. Doublemeat, birthdays, Spring Fling. Don't care how much of a poof I end up lookin'. Bint can't make me give up smokes or spicy buffalo wings, and I'm not goin' legit, not all at once anyway, But any frilly human thing she wants. White bloody picket fence and the whole nine yards.

And no need to remind me, you'll make sure I'm nice and dead if I don't."

One look at his face and I know its true.

"But ya don't need to. I will. 'Cause I want it just as much as she does. Dru and I, carved our name on countries in blood, saw the whole world. But we never just lived, part of it all, not running, not killing, just us. For a while, after Dru got sick, it was almost like that. We were in New York, and for a while there just like ordinary folks. Well, except for the bodies in the alley and Dru's penchant for dolls. But you get the picture. Wouldn't mind that really."

Turn to the watcher, but he's off. Somewhere in that he's passed beyond me. There's a jeep waiting out beyond the cave, and I almost don't want to step into the shadow of its roof. But I'm not Peaches yet, and I've still got an image to maintain. Gotta do right by my girl. Watcher knew it all along. Got to come home a better man. 


End file.
